


Interesting Allies

by ilyena_sylph, Merfilly



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Family, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-06-24
Updated: 2008-06-24
Packaged: 2018-01-02 19:19:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1060599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilyena_sylph/pseuds/ilyena_sylph, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merfilly/pseuds/Merfilly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Slade runs into one of Wintergreen's children</p>
            </blockquote>





	Interesting Allies

**Author's Note:**

> In the process of playing around with Slade Wilson, we decided to flesh out Wintergreen a bit. This grew out of some of what canon told us about him.

Slade had discovered he hated the diamond smugglers shortly after coming to live in Africa. When one group decided to make a trail too near his property, they had been idiots, inviting him to come handle it in proper Deathstroke the Terminator fashion.

He was just in position, readying to attack, when the side of camp farthest from him exploded in chaos and Afrikaans' cursing. Slade could just make out a small form being roughly handled...or attempted handling, because that ... female...was definitely giving as good as they were giving back.

The woman managed to break from one captor, a solid knee going into the groin of a would-be attacker, and the cursing increased...as did the supportive calls from the human pack mules staked together on that side of the camp.

//Oh, hell. She's going to get herself killed.// Slade watched a moment, decided that he'd meant to deal with these idiots in any case, he might as well go rescue the woman while he was at it. //When did you turn do-gooder?// part of his mind mocked even as he used the distraction to go through the smugglers, quick and sure. 

With him as a threat...armed to the teeth at that, the smugglers had to focus on him, and the woman got free enough to get to the 'mules'. Her intent seemed to be solely on setting them at liberty, but she was damned quick to disable the one or two men who still focused on her as a threat.

Slade couldn't pay attention to her with the fight going on, but once he had the smugglers under control, he could turn towards the woman, studying her a little more closely. 

The woman was maybe the age Joe would have been, or a shade younger. Her sandy brown hair was smartly tied back, and her eyes were dark. She showed very little fear of him as she regarded him in the dying light of the twilight, and her clothing was of practical design for counter-operations.

"Good bit of an assist," she said, voice accented with a very British dialect in the Afrikaans she used.

"I don't like the diamond trade," Slade shrugged, keeping to the same language. Practically dressed, sharp, clean features, and spunk... //and your son's age// oh, this was going to go so wonderfully. "You looked like you were handling yourself pretty well, though." 

"Don't particularly care for using humans as pack animals against their will," she informed him, toss of her chin in defiance of life in Africa's darker sides. "Joyce Blanchard." She offered her name with civility, a name that rang bells and sharpened certain features in their familiarity.

//Blanchard... Just Joe's age... (oh dear gods)// "Slade Wilson," he answered, nodding at her words. "I'm not fond of the idea either. Not bad work." 

"So it is you under the mask." She sniffed just a little, and that reminded him even more which wife was this one's mother. "Well, Mister Wilson, seems I've got to be moving if I'm to have any light for setting my camp tonight."

"You're using your mother's name?" There was absolutely no point in denying who he was, or what that made the girl to him, in some ways. "We're not all that far from home, if you'd rather not spend the night on the savanna..." 

"Easier that way, given my eldest sibling's patent disapproval of my ways," she informed him. "Wouldn't do for the proper Lord to have a common riff-raff adventurer in the family." She looked up to the sky...moonless night...and sighed. "Just in case any of these blokes got away when I set their slaves loose, that might be for the better."

Slade threw back his head and laughed at her tone, "Has he forgotten who his father is, then?" 'Riff-raff adventurer', after all, was a pretty decent way to describe he and Wintergreen both. "Come on. This way." He picked up an easy pace, heading back home. 

"None of us forget who father is," she said, shortly, but she matched his pace, showing a good bit of endurance for this kind of life. That she had followed in her father's steps this much, and it had been her brother who died under arms for Britain only enhanced the irony that they were Abigail's children.

Slade shook his head slightly at her sharp tone, and kept moving. "Not the first time you've done this, then, if your brother's already annoyed with you..?"

She laughed, a dry sound that was very much her father. "Oh far from it. I've been active since Edward..." She stopped and caught her breath from those words. She'd been close to her brother. "Seemed a fitting legacy to follow, given his feelings on making a difference."

Slade closed his eye for a moment before he nodded once. "I'd have to agree." //Ah, Wintergreen. I'm not sure this is going to sit well, but you'd take my hide off in strips if I'd left her out here...// "What've you been doing, mostly? I think we'd have heard if you were making too much noise anywhere..." 

Joyce shrugged, and began listing off various eco-terrorist cells she'd worked on the outskirts of, as well as the humanitarian groups more apt to use force than peace that funded these kind of excursions. 

Getting her to talk worked to cover the distance, and he added comments of his own again at some of them, picking up quite a picture of this daughter of her father before they reached the house and he walked in the door. "Wintergreen... I think I found something of yours on the savanna..." 

"I've not been out in..." He came to the portico and did a double take. 

"Hello, father," she said dryly. 

"Bloody hell, Joyce, what in the blazing blue seas are you doing here?!" Wintergreen demanded.

"Other than making a very nice distraction for me to deal with that pack of diamond smugglers?" Slade asked idly, stripping off mask and gloves as he stood there. 

Joyce eased her small back pack off her shoulders, shaking her head. "You're not the only one in the family who doesn't conform to dear old brother's sense of propriety, Father."

Wintergreen sighed, and stepped forward to take the pack. "Forgive me, Joyce. I'm rather surprised to ever see any relation of mine, let alone one of my children, hundreds of miles from civilization."

Slade chuckled softly now that the two of them were talking, and went to go change into more normal clothing, leaving the two of them for the moment. It wasn't long before he was back, though. 

Wintergreen had coaxed his daughter into the kitchen, and was preparing food. By the smell of it, he was catering to her wishes, not Slade's, as that was definitely English cooking Slade smelled. Neither father nor daughter appeared too talkative, but Joyce was more than willing to study both the older Brit and his purported employer.

Slade found a place along the wall to settle and watch them both. Joyce bore a strong resemblance to her father, despite having her mother's hair, and her temperament definitely matched her father's well. 

"Aunt Alice passed away," Joyce finally said. "Mum and I attended. She'd come for Edward's service, after all."

Wintergreen nodded, sadly. "She'd lived a good life, as best as could be done, given all the history."

Joyce cocked her head to the side just a little. "History?"

Slade looked at his old friend, seeing if he would talk about that at all. If not... There were surely ways to distract this bright, sharp girl from old history. 

Wintergreen's jaw tightened, and then he set about putting plates in front of each of them, sitting to the table after a curt nod to Slade to take his place. "Ancient history, and the main reason I have endeavored to keep clear of my kith. If you wish to hear the tale, I shall give it, but not over the meal."

Joyce appraised him, and then nodded. "Later then, Father, for I would like to know what kept you from Aunt Alice's services."

Slade knew his old friend had recently gone to England, but he also knew how hard Wintergreen kept himself from 'staining' his family by being seen.

It was enough to make him lean far enough to place a hand on his old friend for a moment, then settle to the food. "This is a rarity, Joyce, normally he'll cook anything but English food," he said as he did. Of course, with his old friend cooking, even English food was good, but still. 

Joyce made a 'harumph' sound so like Wintergreen's that her father looked at her. He could feel pride for this child, as he had felt pride in Edward, even as he grieved the boy's death. 

"Tell me of your life, Joyce. And that of your mother, if you feel inclined," Wintergreen invited.

"Mum's busy with her beau, most of the time," Joyce said, firmly. "As for me..." She began elaborating on what she'd told Slade on the way in. 

Slade couldn't help the amused look that crossed his features once or twice as the girl edited content just a bit for her father's ears as he listened to the tale again, making notes as he did to have Jesse keep a bit more of an eye on this one. 

Wintergreen, for his part, had that look of intense pleasure and pride he'd only ever really shown to Slade, and Joe. He reached out and patted his daughter's hand, nodding.

"Bloody good work, m'dear. But it must drive your mother insane with worry."

Joyce nodded, but shrugged. "She said I was too much yours, same as Ed had been."

"You do sound like you didn't fall far from the tree, fire and all," Slade agreed with that assessment. 

"Save that I remember my duties to my family," Joyce quickly cut in. Wintergreen dropped his eyes, for a moment. 

"Joyce, that history lesson...you may not ever believe it, but I think it is time you know the truth of me, beyond just the bitterness that Abigail rightly inflicted on you."

Slade sighed, low in his throat, and watched as his old friend prepared to tell that long, nasty story. It had taken decades and the heat of battle for Wintergreen to tell even him... how much worse was it going to be for him to have to tell his daughter? "Let me this once handle the cleaning, Wintergreen," he said quietly, "while you two go settle." 

Wintergreen eyed the kitchen, then Slade. "Please, my old friend." He rose, offering a hand to Joyce to help her rise. The polite stiffness of formality allowed the two of them to walk out of the room in close proximity, going to Wintergreen's den, where he pulled out a scrapbook that illustrated the family he had walked away from, to preserve their name from the stench of Nazi-sympathizers.

Slade had ducked his head in once the kitchen was cleaned, looking at Wintergreen with his head cocked slightly. When his old friend didn't mind, he slipped in and settled into his preferred spot. 

It would take a good part of the night to tell the story, but by the time Wintergreen detailed the mission in Israel, Joyce had a far better understanding of her father than she ever would have thought possible.

Maybe it really wasn't so bad to be so much like him. Joyce looked up at her father and shook her head. "None of us knew, none of my aunts every whispered of it," she said.

"They were all young enough to forget the most of it, and had been left to our mother's care." Wintergreen shrugged. "I did all I could to be sure it never could touch you children. All of your mothers were of impeccable backgrounds, and my service record served me well, to prevent dishonor on any of you."

Slade shook his head slightly at the moments Wintergreen chose that completely blunt honesty, and which ones he let slide in the gentle way he had. His old friend could be so complicated. That was a thing even he hadn't known, just how carefully Wintergreen had chosen his wives over the years. That was not the impression he usually gave of those marriages. 

"Why'd you really leave mother?" Joyce asked, softly. "She loved you, you know. More than the other two ever did, from my meetings with them."

Wintergreen looked at Slade, rather than answer the question immediately. When he did look at Joyce it was with a soft sigh. "I had responsibilities, Joyce, that prevented me from ever being at her side as faithfully as she would have wished."

Slade dropped his own gaze away, remembering the time Wintergreen had finally told him just why Abigail had divorced him. It had been years after the fact, but the knowledge that he'd been the cause of that marriage's failure had stung almost as much as it had managed to amuse him. 

Joyce took that in, remembered the things her mother had to say, and sighed softly. "Did you ever think of us, once you turned your back?"

Wintergreen's face hardened immediately. "Yes, Joyce. I made sure that you and your brother, your mother even, was as comfortable as possible. Do not accuse me of failing to provide, or to think of you each. I've made it my business to keep up as best I could with each of you."

Joyce flinched, hearing that anger, that pride, that duty. "We needed a father," she said stubbornly.

Slade flinched at that, closing his eye. She wasn't wrong, and yet he had never asked his old friend but once if he was all right with their lives as they were. 

"Even given my unfortunate mishap in Vietnam, Joyce, there was no way I could have walked away from a life of action." Wintergreen met her eyes firmly. "Anymore than you've caved to your brother's demands of propriety and given up yours."

Slade looked back up at that, watching the two of them, seeing if she would understand that. The problem with stubborn children too much like their fathers, after all, was that sometimes they refused to listen to reason when it didn't fit what they saw. 

Joyce thought it over. She then shook her head with a rueful smile. "Alright, Father. Point taken. And Mum's done well for herself."

"So she has...she's deserved it, as sweet a girl as she was." Wintergreen relaxed. "Enough talk, let me see you to a room for the night."

"Yes, I am tired." She rose, and he saw her upstairs, before returning to Slade's side.

Slade looked up at him, a wry expression on his face. "She's very much like you. Who'd have thought I'd find your youngest out in the savanna, after all?"

Wintergreen nodded, sitting down on the couch near his friend, thinking a bit in silence, When he did finally speak, he looked right at Slade, and Slade knew there was nothing but seriousness now.

"I never regretted it, old friend. I chose you, and all else was but duty."

Slade looked back at him, turning enough to reach for a hand. "I knew you didn't regret it, Wintergreen, but..." 

Wintergreen clasped the hand fiercely. "I'd still answer that phone, even seeing this today."

Slade held on for a long moment, looking at him intently, then nodded, accepting his verdict on this (as he typically would when Wintergreen put his foot down). "Thank you, old friend."


End file.
